


Dream A Little Dream

by TajaReyul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Het, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TajaReyul/pseuds/TajaReyul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katie Bell is suspicious when she sees Marcus Flint at George and Angelina's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream A Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liliths_requiem](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=liliths_requiem).



> This was written for the exchange portion of the HP_Holiday fest on LiveJournal. The prompts I chose from a list included wedding, falling from a pedestal, Marcus-Adrian best friends, Marcus-Millicent cousins.
> 
> I am indebted to indyonblue for beta and Britpicking services. Any mistakes remaining are my own.

Katie Bell hadn't thought much about Marcus Flint after he left school. As Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team he had given the girls on the opposing teams a particularly rough time and instructed his team to do the same. Some of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls complained bitterly, but Wood had always told the Gryffindor girls that it was good for their futures as pros to get used to rough play.

Flint hadn't gone on to play professional Quidditch himself, and Katie didn't know what he had made of himself after his second seventh year. She hadn't run into him in Diagon Alley or in any of the other wizarding communities and they didn't have any friends in common. Therefore, she couldn't comprehend his presence at the wedding of George Weasley and Angelina Johnson. He hadn't been on the guest list. She'd seen it—hell, she'd helped address the invitations. He could be here as someone's plus-one, she supposed. Katie observed him as she danced with George, and Percy, who in the absence of Fred, served as best man, and the rest of the Weasley brothers in turn. 

Flint definitely had 'darkly brooding' down pat as he slouched against the wall, watching the crowd. He'd slimmed down a touch and had grown into his frame, looking tall and muscular instead of bulky and trollish. Sometime over the intervening years he'd had his teeth fixed and now looked rather handsome. _For a cowardly, cheating Slytherin,_ she reminded herself.

After watching Flint not interact with anyone but the waiters who brought him more firewhisky, Katie thanked Bill for their dance and made her way determinedly over to the former Slytherin. He watched her through hooded eyes as she approached. She almost checked to make sure her robes hadn't fallen open.

"Flint," she greeted him brusquely to cover how much his regard had unnerved her.

He lifted his glass to his lips, tipped his head back and took a long swallow. She watched his throat work as if hypnotised by the movement of his Adam's apple.

"Bell," he returned with a mocking little smile.

"You weren't on the guest list."

"I was not," he agreed.

She huffed an impatient sigh. "Are you here as someone's date?"

"Why do you ask?" He took another sip of his drink, smirking knowingly behind the rim of his glass.

She flushed. "Just curious as to the reason for your presence. I wouldn't have thought that you held George or Angelina in high enough regard that you would want to attend their wedding."

"Relax, Bell, no need to set the Golden Trio on me. I'm here at the behest of my cousin. Her husband fell ill at the last minute and she asked me to escort her in his stead."

"I don't need Ron, Hermione or Harry to handle you."

"Prove it," he challenged and handed his glass off to a passing waiter. Catching her about the waist, he swept her onto the dance floor and into the waltz that had just started playing.

"Flint—" she protested.

"I thought you could handle me. It's just a waltz, Bell. Are you going to make a scene?"

Katie stopped trying to extricate herself, and settled into the steps of the dance. "This isn't what I meant and you know it," she hissed.

"Smile," he admonished. "You're attracting the wrong sort of attention."

She forced her features into a bland smile. "You've got a lot of nerve."

"Thank you. Coming from a Gryffindor like you, that's high praise. You know, you'd be a better dancer if you just loosened up a bit."

"I am an excellent dancer, I'll have you know," she returned hotly. "A wizard with proper manners would have asked for a dance and waited for me to accept."

"Ah, but you don't believe Slytherins are capable of courteous behaviour, so why should I follow your rules?"

"Forgive me if I've misjudged you, but I don't recall you being all that polite when we were at school together."

"Funny, but I don't recall us interacting much off the Quidditch pitch."

"You cheated at Quidditch. Not mannerly at all."

"First of all, it's only cheating if you get caught, otherwise it's strategy. Surely by now you know that. Second, there is no etiquette in Quidditch. That's why Slytherin girls don't try out for the team. Pureblooded witches do not tolerate being treated disrespectfully."

Since Katie was what blood-purists might generously call a half-blood, she naturally took offence. "Pureblood bias is no longer _de rigueur_ , Flint," she said icily.

His full lips thinned in annoyance. "Then bias _against_ purebloods should be just as unacceptable. You assumed that I gate-crashed the wedding, and then that I was bastard enough to ignore social convention altogether. No wonder Millie didn't want to come to this 'do' without Ernie." He let go of her waist as he prepared to leave her standing in the middle of the dance floor.

She tightened her grip on his hand and said softly, "Wait. I'm sorry."

He raised one eyebrow enquiringly, but didn't abandon her.

"I did assume the worst of you with no more evidence than my perceptions of you from school. That was wrong of me and I apologise."

He moved them smoothly back into the pattern of the dance. "I'll accept your apology on one condition: That you be my guest for the Parkinson Industries Fiscal Year-End Banquet."

She was taken aback. First the dance and now a date? "When is it?" she stalled.

"Two weeks from yesterday." To Katie's surprise, his expression was one of guarded hope. That was...intriguing.

She gave him a very small, but genuine, smile. "Lucky for me, I happen to be free that evening," she said lightly.

His answering grin held none of his earlier mockery. The waltz ended and he led her back to where he'd been leaning against the wall. Harry and Ron were standing there, apparently chatting casually. Katie was not fooled for a second and when she glanced at Flint, she could see he wasn't, either. When they got within earshot, he turned to her and actually bowed over her hand.

"Thank you for the waltz, Miss Bell. You are as graceful on your feet as you are on your broom."

"Please call me Katie," she invited.

"Katie," he all but purred. "I'll send you an owl with the details." His voice tilted up at the end, asking permission.

"That'll be fine, F—Marcus. I'll give you my card--"

"Not necessary. I'll get your details from Millie, who I see is trying to get my attention. If you'll excuse me...?"

She nodded her assent and he left. Katie turned to Harry and Ron. "Did you need something?"

Ron blushed, but Harry stepped forward. "I was hoping for a dance, Katie," he replied smoothly, as if he and Ron hadn't just been standing by to rescue her.

The reception progressed without any further incident. Since she didn't see Flint-- _Marcus,_ she corrected herself, after that, she had to assume he took his cousin home. George and Angelina left for their honeymoon amid a shower of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Hopping Rice. Katie had not caught the bouquet, much to Angelina's obvious chagrin. Never mind that Katie hadn't wanted to catch the bouquet and wasn't trying, despite the fact that she was the only one of Angelina's bridesmaids still single.

Over the next week, Katie found herself anticipating and dreading her date in equal measure. She resisted the urge to ask around about Marcus, but she had no qualms about looking up Parkinson Industries. It seemed the Parkinsons had ended up paying huge fines after the war, nearly bankrupting them. The company, just Parkinson Imports back then, nearly went under until Pansy stepped in, took over from her father and very ruthlessly made sweeping changes. Getting rid of all the old management, she replaced them with younger, more clever and daring people. She also garnered approval from the new regime at the Ministry by employing Muggle-borns in positions of authority for the first time in the company's history. As the company's coffers began to refill, she branched out, investing in other struggling businesses and turning them around. Parkinson Imports became Parkinson Industries, seemingly overnight.

Marcus did owl, one week after the wedding. His note merely said that the dress for the banquet was smart and that he'd call for her at six sharp. Katie didn't really have a clear picture what 'smart' meant for a guest of an employee, so she enlisted the aid of her sister and Alicia Spinnet to help her shop for new robes.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Kay? You remember what he was like at school. That year that the troll got loose in the castle? We said it was his mum."

"He's changed," said Katie thoughtfully. "He got his teeth fixed, for one thing, but it's more than that. There's a sense of maturity about him. We had a conversation. He was coherent. I don't know, maybe repeating his seventh year steadied him somewhat. At any rate, I want to see if there's more depth to him than we all assumed."

"Depth of depravity, more like."

Alicia's cynical words bothered Katie. So much so that she almost owled Flint to cancel. Something made her hesitate until it was too late to do so, however. Besides, she reasoned, the robes she'd bought were quite dear and she wasn't sure where else she'd wear them. She asked to skive off practise early so she could get ready. Her coach looked at her with a new sort of respect when she told him she was attending the Parkinson Industries Banquet. Katie wasn't sure she liked that, but she wasn't above taking advantage of it.

By five forty-five, her flat was tidied and gleaming, her hair swept up in a loose chignon and her Cosmetic Charm expertly cast. She smoothed her hands down over her hips and checked her reflection. Her robes were sleeveless with a high neck and no back to speak of. They looked good on her, she decided as her front bell jangled.

Marcus stood outside her door, a pot of white hyacinths in his hands. Katie just stared for a moment. If he'd been handsome at the wedding, he was breathtaking tonight. _Pull it together, Bell,_ she told herself.

"Are those for me?" she asked, stepping aside to let him in.

He handed her the flowers. "Yes. See, I _do_ have proper manners," he teased.

"I do see." She smiled. "Unusual choice."

"Hyacinths are sacred to Apollo, who, among his many responsibilities, was the god of games and sports. White hyacinths also mean loveliness, which is very appropriate." He let his eyes drift down her form, but lightly, not at all the way he'd stripped her with his eyes at the wedding.

She blushed slightly. "Thank you. I wasn't sure about the robes..."

"You look perfectly appropriate—oh," he said as she turned to let him see the back.

"I know. There is an over-robe, or I do have a light shawl that I can wear."

"Let me see."

She set the hyacinths on her coffee table and picked up the robe laying over the back of the couch. Shrugging it on, she turned around for him, arms spread wide. "It covers all that bare skin quite neatly."

"It looks a bit warm for the venue."

"It is. Warm, I mean. I don't know anything about where we're going." Katie threw the over-robe off and draped the spider-silk shawl over her arms.

"To hell with propriety. Wear the shawl."

"Are you sure? I don't want to cause any trouble for you."

"As my guest, you have a little more leeway than a partner might and I'll be the envy of everyone there who loves women."

"That is a very charming compliment. Thank you."

"Shall we?" He held out his arm to her. "Side-Along all right with you?"

She threaded her arm through the crook of his elbow. "Can I trust you not to splinch me?"

"Your body is safe in my hands," he said with a flirtatious little smirk. Katie barely had time for a double-take before he turned them and Disapparated.

They reappeared in a cosy little parlour. Katie forgot her surprise at Marcus's cheeky remark and looked about curiously. "Small for a banquet hall, don't you think?" she teased.

"The castle is Muggle-owned and most of the help are Muggles. This was the most discreet solution management could come up with. They shouldn't need to perform more than a few Befuddlement Hexes at the end of the evening." He opened the door. "It's this way, if I recall correctly." He led her along the corridor and down a sweeping staircase.

"Very nice. I take back my earlier question." She smiled up at him.

"I like that smile much better than the one you used at the wedding."

"You rather forced me into that dance. This time I'm here by my own choice."

"Point taken." He handed his invitation to the butler at the door to the ballroom, who glanced at it and waved them in. "Drink?" Marcus asked her. "It's an open bar."

"Yes, please. Gin and tonic." Looking around, Katie could see that her robes were only slightly more daring than those the other women were wearing, but not so revealing that she felt wildly inappropriate, and she relaxed.

Marcus brought her drink almost immediately and they mingled. He introduced her to a few of his co-workers, very subtly revealing which ones he liked and which ones he merely tolerated. Some of them Katie remembered from school or from running into them over the course of her Quidditch career, and she generally agreed with Marcus's opinion of them. They spent a little more time with Marcus's best friend, Adrian Pucey, who exerted himself to be charming, and his date, who didn't bother to pretend anything but ennui. The food was excellent, the liquor top-shelf, and the speeches boring as hell.

Katie excused herself halfway through Pansy Parkinson's address about the successes of the past year and her grand plans for the future of the company. She made her way to the loo and locked herself in one of the cubicles. Merlin, Parkinson loved to hear the sound of her own voice. The woman could talk for England.

Kate heard the door to the loo squeak open. "Did you see those robes?" one scandalised voice asked.

"Properly open all the way down to her arse," another answered snidely.

"Big Quidditch heroine, that one. Don't know what else Flint could possibly see in her."

"I think they went to Hogwarts together."

"No way was she a Slytherin."

"No, no. Gryffindor, I thought someone said."

"Well, that explains the robes."

The two women laughed. It was an ugly sound.

"I heard both her parents were Muggle-borns," the first woman continued.

"No! Quidditch player or not, how could Flint stoop so low?"

"Probably trying to curry favour at the Ministry. You know Flint, always scheming."

"I don't know how he could do it, even for a fat government contract. How the mighty have fallen," the second woman gloated.

Katie had heard enough. She flushed the toilet and righted her robes. Stepping out of the stall, she completely ignored the two women who had just been gossiping about her. She washed her hands and then took her time fussing with her hair and touching up her Cosmetic Charm. In her peripheral vision, she could see the two women staring coldly at her. The only acknowledgement she gave to their presence was to gather her skirt close so the hem didn't so much as brush either woman's robes.

When she got back to the table, her temper was under control. Even so, Marcus instantly knew something was wrong. "What's happened?" he asked quietly as he held her chair for her.

"Nothing you need to worry about. I have a slight headache is all."

"We can leave if you're not feeling well."

"That might be for the best," she said with a polite little smile.

He gave her a strange look, but tossed back the last of his drink and held out his hand. He was very solicitous as he escorted her back up the stairs to the room they'd Apparated into at the beginning of the evening. She wanted to shout at him to drop the act, but she restrained herself. A screaming tantrum wouldn't do anything for her image at all, or the image of Muggle-borns in general.

"If you need to stay, you don't have to see me home. I'm sober enough to Apparate."

"You're my date, I'm not staying here while you go home alone." He took her arm and turned on the spot, Apparating them back to her flat. When they popped back into existence, he let her go and took one step away from her. "Something happened to upset you tonight. Don't try to deny it. Won't you tell me what it was?"

"I was that obvious, was I?" she said in a brittle tone.

"Not to anyone else, but I learned to observe your expressions pretty closely on the Quidditch pitch."

She nodded slowly. "Flint, why did you ask me to accompany you tonight?"

"We're back to surnames, are we?" he asked sardonically. The mocking expression he'd worn at the wedding was back. "Katie, if I'm still allowed to use your given name...?"

"For now," she permitted reluctantly.

He took a deep breath and visibly set aside his sarcasm. "Katie, I asked you because I needed a date and I was—I am—attracted to you. I wanted to get to know you better. Why? Did someone suggest otherwise?"

"A couple of your co-workers." She shrugged. "They couldn't decide if you were with me because I'm a Quidditch pro and therefore easy, or if you were trying to get on the good side of the Ministry because you were bidding on a contract."

His expression darkened. "Neither of those things is true," he said angrily. "I don't think you're easy. I never did. Yes, it doesn't hurt my reputation with the new guard at the Ministry, but that's a happy coincidence, not my reason for asking you out."

"I wish I could believe you," she sighed.

"Still not good enough for you, am I?" he sneered. "I suppose I should be grateful that I look good enough now that you would even deign to speak to me."

"What? No, that was never--"

"Save it," he snarled. "I know what you thought of me back in school: Troll-blood, coward, liar, cheat." He took a breath. _Slytherin,"_ he finished nastily. "Next best thing to taking the Dark Mark."

"Flint--" she began.

"Have you not learned by now that there's a difference between going along to get along and wholeheartedly supporting a madman? Merlin and Muggle Christ, Bell, am I going to have to pay for the sins of my father for the rest of my life?" He turned to storm out of her flat.

"Marcus, wait," she pleaded as she caught his arm. "Calm down." She urged him to sit on her couch. "You'll splinch yourself for sure if you try to Apparate now." Sitting down next to him, she said, "It's true, I thought all those things about you, back in school, and even said most of them. Wait," she said, tugging him back down. "That was wrong of me. Wrong and cruel. I cannot apologise enough for my behaviour. I shouldn't have said those things. I should have had the courage to not laugh at those jokes that were made at your expense, and I had no right to judge you for being sorted into Slytherin."

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he subsided. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand.

"What did you mean, pay for the sins of your father? Was he a Death Eater?"

He snorted derisively. "One needn't be a Death Eater to be evil."

She waited, her thumb continuing to rub soothing circles on his hand.

"He was a blood supremacist, to begin with. He firmly believed—believes--that purebloods are superior to Muggle-borns. He expected to leave Hogwarts and fall into a comfortable Ministry job where he wouldn't have to do anything but look important. He complains bitterly and daily that his reality is...somewhat different, and he took it out on my mother and me in other ways as well. Beyond that, he is incredibly stupid. He discouraged my mother from teaching me, well, anything. When I got to Hogwarts, I could barely read, and by the time the disaster of my seventh year came about, let's just say he was deeply disappointed that my pure blood didn't automatically mean I could leave Hogwarts with a full rack of NEWTs."

"He beat you?" she guessed.

Marcus nodded gravely. "He said since I was no better than a Muggle, he wouldn't waste magic on me. It took over a year for the damage he inflicted to heal completely. Of course, without that beating I wouldn't have this winning smile." He bared his teeth in an expression that was more grimace than grin.

"I'll understand if you're less than appreciative."

He laughed soundlessly. "He washed his hands of me and threw me out, or tried to. My mother stood up to him for the first time I can remember, and earned her own beating for her troubles, but I got to stay at home until I went back to repeat my last year. Mum took the opportunity to tutor me. In the end, I scraped six NEWTs and got out from under my father's thumb."

"Not unimpressive," Katie said gently.

"I've worked hard since then to learn everything I should have done while I was in school, and more. Katie, I don't want things handed to me, I want to earn them. Just like I want to earn your trust, not have your pity."

"I don't pity you. I'm sorry your dad was such a monster, but you've tried, and mostly succeeded, from what I can see, to overcome the crap hand you were dealt. You are earning my trust, gradually, but it's going to take a while. We're all scarred from the war. Draco Malfoy used Madam Rosmerta to put me in hospital."

"What!?"

"It's a long story and I wasn't even his target, but it happened. I don't blame you for what he did, but it's hard for me to really trust anyone. Maybe we can try to set aside the past for right now, and just enjoy each other's company."

"It's a start," he agreed with a small smile. "I'd like that very much."

Gathering her courage about her, Katie leaned forward to press her lips to Marcus's. His hand came up to cup her cheek. The kiss was sweet and rather chaste. He pulled back a bit and looked deeply into her eyes, as if searching for something. Then he drew her to him and kissed her back. This kiss was not chaste at all. Katie's head swam and her hands slid up and around to the back of his neck, holding him to her. Meanwhile, his hands were slowly exploring the contours of her back, stroking and kneading.

He groaned and pulled away.

"What?" she asked.

"As much as I want to get you out of those robes, and I want that more than I can say, this is going too fast. You don't yet trust me and I want more than just a one-off."

She cleared her throat and nodded. "You're right. I want you too, but I can't guarantee that I wouldn't panic in the morning and fly away as fast as my broom could take me."

"So," he said with a sigh and stood. "I'll send you an owl?"

She stood as well. "That would be, well, more than fine." Katie walked him to the door.

He turned and spanned her waist with his hands. "You were beautiful tonight. I don't remember if I told you."

"Not with words, no, but I learned to read your expressions on the Quidditch pitch as well."

"Then I'm a cad for not saying it aloud. Thank you for going with me and making all those tedious speeches worth sitting through."

She blushed slightly. "Another charming compliment."

He bent his head to kiss her once more and once more, just as it was starting to get out of hand, he broke it off.

"Good night, Katie," he said huskily.

"Good night, Marcus. Dream of me?" 

"I doubt I'll dream of aught else," he said with a wry twist of his mouth.


End file.
